After playing the tourist, peeking in store windows and admiring the occasional fashionable hat that passed on a bobbing head, I found the knights. They sat on a slight incline before a spired church, arranged on the grass in a sprawl of masculinity. Leather armour and sheathed swords marked their station, as well as the tell-tale balancing scale insignias.
One man stood out, with his fox-red beard and broad everything: Sir Gareth, who’d been stationed at my outpost the previous year, before reassignment elsewhere. This must be the elsewhere. He’d been a notorious lady’s man, and had given the impression of jovial sociability in our occasional conversation. Couldn’t have designed a better set-up if I’d tried.
Dawdling in front of the church, I flashed little glances at the man, tucking my chin to my chest and fluttering my eyes.
“Have you got something in your eye, ma’am?” Gareth called, in the deep bellow I remembered.
“Ah, no,” I said, “I was just, er. Admiring your beard!” I tried not to feel nervous as he separated from the other knights. His approaching form towered over mine in a way that felt distinctly different from our previous interactions.
Gareth grinned down at me. “You can touch it, if you like.”
“Shouldn’t we get to know each other first?” I squeaked. “Over, say, a pretzel and some ale?”
“A pretzel and some ale,” he repeated back to the men, earning chuckles and a couple of hoots. “Aye, I can do that. Let’s go, little lady.” He grabbed at me, engulfing my hand in a hairy mitt. I found myself half-yanked along the street, directedin the same forceful manner I’d used with the sorcerer, and began to have second thoughts.
A pang of longing struck me. I wanted to be a man again, someone Gareth would meet eye-to-eye, instead of tugging along like a toy. “Ow,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint, but he didn’t.
He led me to a pub with a hanging wooden sign, bearing the crude depiction of a pissing dog. I scarcely had a chance to read it—‘The Mangy Stray’—before I was ushered through the door. The hot, stagnant air made it feel like entering the gut of an animal. A row of small windows, choked with smoke stains, blocked all daylight with great effectiveness. Amid the smoking and drinking patrons, I could only see one other woman. She seemed somewhat out of it, squawking with laughter like a manic bird, while a weedy man rubbed at her shoulders.
We sat at an unoccupied table, each on a stool, and Gareth held up two fingers to the barkeep. “They don’t have pretzels here,” he said, then laughed like I wasn’t in on the joke.
Alright, so I’d failed at my first task. But perhaps I could substitute the pretzel for something else: information.
“So, what’s with all you knights dawdling about this afternoon?” I fingered a golden ringlet, pulling and releasing so that it sprang back into shape. “I’ve heard word of a prophecy foretelling the mad sorcerer’s defeat—has that already happened, or something?”
“Now where’d you hear a thing like that?” Gareth’s eyes hardened into little stones as he leaned over the small table.
“Knights told me,” I yelped. “Other knights, who I’ve been drinking with.” Two flagons slammed onto the table between us and, happy for the distraction, I grabbed at one and tooka deep, foamy sip of ale. When I next chanced a look, Gareth was sitting back with a rueful smile.
“Those loudmouths.” He forced a chuckle. “Well. What can you do?”
“Is it all wrapped up, then?” I said, once we’d both had a couple of swigs. “Should this be a celebratory drink?”
“Ah no . . . no. There’s a complication.” The burly knight sighed and placed a meaty paw over my hand, rubbing my wrist with a thumb.
“This mug’s too heavy to lift with one hand,” I apologized, retracting my hand and taking a double-gripped sip as demonstration. “This complication . . . it wouldn’t happen to be a man named Sir Cameron, would it? The knights also told me about that,” I added hurriedly.
Gareth heaved a true laugh this time, shaking the bulk of his belly. “Little miss well-informed. We’ll have to keep an eye on you, eh? But you’re right, it’s that shit-head Cameron, God curse him to the abyss.”
“Oh?” I said through gritted teeth. “From what I heard, he was quite beloved.”
“That coward?” The knight guffawed. “No. His father bribed the Order to take him off his hands. Only reason he’s survived up till now is some junky elf took him for a pet. Walked him about on a leash, I bet, else he’d be scrap meat on the front lines by now. Nobody human could stand the man.”
“I heard he was handsome,” I said, grinding my jaw. “Like a knight from a storybook.”
“Sure,” Gareth conceded, then rubbed his beard. “How do I explain this? Have you ever talked with someone who is obviously shaping their replies to please you? Except theirguesses are like a blindman throwing at a dartboard. It leaves you feeling kinda soiled, like you’ve been talking to a poorly made shell.” He tapped on his own head demonstratively. “Nothing behind the eyes.”
“That’s, uh . . .” I took a swig of the ale, then another, longer gulp. “That’s a bit judgemental, isn’t it?”
Noting my drained mug, the knight waved at the bar for a refill. “Something stronger!” He turned back to me. “You’d understand if you met the guy. Point is, our men were plenty pleased when the prophecy became broader knowledge. Rid ourselves of a collective pain in our ass and off the mad sorcerer, all in one go. How’s that for two birds, one stone?”
“Birds?” I hiccuped, watching the progress of my fresh mug as it was carried across the dank room.
“Speaking of, you didn’t hear this from me, but apparently the idiot got himself turned into a vulture.”
I grabbed for the mug before it was fully placed, causing the bar help to jerk backward. “Oh,” I squeaked, taking a gulp, and only spilling a small amount down my front. “Poor guy!”
“Yeah, you mentioned his looks. Let’s just say the outside matches the inside now.” The knight’s hearty laughter surmounted all other noise in the bar. “And the way he dressed—”
